Chapter 6: The Gala

Darius came to her door at seven in a black dinner jacket, and he did not look at the studio at all.

He looked at Elsie.

She wore the only formal dress she owned, a dark green one she had bought at twenty-four and had let out twice.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"I know."

"Do you want me to come in with you or behind you?"

"Beside me," Elsie said. "And you don't say anything unless I look at you."

"Understood."

The young mother from the first floor took the twins and two bottles, and she promised to call if either of them so much as sneezed.

Elsie kissed their heads, and then she went down the four flights with her hand on Darius's arm.

The Drake's ballroom was gold and white, with four hundred guests and a string quartet and a banner across the stage.

RAFFERTY ROW: BUILDING CHICAGO'S NEXT CENTURY.

Trent stood at the front in a tailored tuxedo, shaking hands, with a glass of champagne he had not drunk from.

Elsie stopped at the door.

A security guard stepped in front of her with a tablet.

"Name, please?"

"Elsie Farragut."

He scrolled with his thumb and shook his head.

"You're not on the list, ma'am. And I've been told you wouldn't be."

"Told by whom?"

"I'm not able to say."

Behind him, a line of guests turned to watch.

A woman in diamonds whispered to her husband, and he laughed behind his hand.

Elsie felt her face heat.

Her phone buzzed in her bag, and she glanced at it before she could stop herself.

It was Imogen.

"Stuck on the Kennedy, ugh. So sorry. Stay strong, love. I'm with you in spirit."

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